


Matlingsworth Chronicles

by cherryfemme (matlingsworth)



Category: Degrassi, Degrassi the Next Generation
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Romance, themes of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matlingsworth/pseuds/cherryfemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Matlingsworth one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Be Grateful'

**Author's Note:**

> **ALL OF THE CHAPTERS ARE SEPARATE WORKS. THEY DO NOT FORM A LINEAR STORY**

You might be ungrateful, but it doesn't bother you one bit.

Yesterday was enough to drive you out of the house for a while. It was only early evening, and your father had resided from his position as city mayor for the day so he could drown in his own ego and weep at what a failure you are. "You should be grateful that I haven't killed you yet, you insufferable brat! First you embarrass me before I run and now you do this?! For God's sake, why in the hell would you try and wreck me like that?!" he tells you near daily, his voice seething with pent-up dissatisfaction and rage. "You're a Hollingsworth man, for Christ's sake! You could be going somewhere! Your siblings are all successful, why can't you just follow their lead!?"

You glanced at your mother as your father ranted on and on. She sat quietly in her wine coloured armchair, dark green eyes vacantly scanning the pages of trashy tabloid magazines. She knows better than to argue, you had figured. But it would have been nice to have someone intervene, for once.

Silently, you droned out plethora after plethora of your fathers' insults until he shoved you outside and slammed the door shut. A smirk slipped onto your face at your father's method of punishment. The inattentiveness of your parents truly amazes you sometimes.

Without hesitation, you made your way to the back of your parents' home, climbed in your perennially-unlocked window and gathered up your necessities. Without so much as a glance back, you slipped back outside with your belongings in tow, gently shut the window and walked away.

Today will be better, you promise yourself. Any day spent away from your family is a better day, so far as you're concerned. The fact that you get to spend the day with a cute girl helps a bit, too.

Clouds are curling in abstract shapes above you while you walk down a craggy side street on the way to Maya's house. 'Be grateful.' Your mind has been haunted by those two word ever since your father spat them at you. Be grateful for what, an emotionally unstable success-story father who wants you to be exactly like him? A money-grubbing mother who stands by while her child grows emotionally vacant? Or siblings who have left you in their shadow to wither?

You feel sick just thinking about being grateful anymore.

To shake the thought, you start searching fervently for The Dot. You wonder how Maya can be so good at speaking French and writing essays but so bad at giving simple directions. Eventually, you see the speckled sign and make your way across the bustling street.

You hear a familiar voice chime, "Miles!" as you approach the business. You turn to the left and see Maya sitting sideways at an umbrella-shadowed table. She raised one hand and waved with a smile. You walk over and take a seat at the wrought-iron table.

"So...how have you been? I was talking with Tristan last night, and some woman runs up to him and starts shouting at him in Russian. Crazy, right?" Maya rambled, twirling the plastic-beaded bracelet she wore on her left wrist.

With a nod and a smile you reply, "Yeah, that's pretty crazy. I, uh..."  
You hesitate. Should you bother telling her you got kicked out? She would get pissed, you're sure. But if you don't...

"The suspense is killing me, Miles, what is it?" Maya asked. She was trying to act casual, but her concern, though well-masked, was still noticeable

"Wouls you believe me if I told you I replaced the phone number on my father's business cards with a sex hotline and got kicked out?" You explain calmly, as though this was a completely normal circumstance in every teenager's life.

For a second, you swear Maya looks upset. Just as you start to get worried her expression lightens and she proclaims, "Someone as awful as him deserves that sort of treatment. Where are you staying, Winston's house?"

"Right now? In a back alley. Winston's family is in Europe on a vacation and being the genius I am, I thought to take everything I needed...except for money." You smile at the irony of your situation. The richest kid in the city has no money.

Maya furrowed her brow. A small frown replaced her smile. "Seriously? Oh my gosh, that sucks. That's...that's awful. Do you have any family you can ask, or--"

"I appreciate your concern," you interrupt, "but now's not the time. I don't think you invited me out so you could pity me. You invited me out so we can enjoy the day. So, let's do that."

Reluctantly, Maya drops the subject. "Fine. Let's...let's go to a park. Parks are nice, right?"

You nod and sarcastically muse, "Oh, parks are wonderful. What, with all the pigeons and squirrels and screaming children. Truly a sight to behold."

Maya lets out a laugh as she stands up. "How poetic. Let's go, Shakespeare."

You smile, and for a minute, you really do think you should be grateful.


	2. Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think," Miles whispered as he pulled Maya into a hug, "I'm starting to understand why you're so important to me."

Three years ago today, Miles realized his place in society. He could feel in his heart that none of it was right. He didn’t want to be a president or a lawyer or even a school principal. It was just too mundane, every day going through the same routines, devoid of any surprise or suspense. Why, Miles would ask himself, would it be so awful to go skydiving and feel each wisp of wind graze your cheek? Or go diving in the deep sea, feeling the pressure intensify and your heart rate shift impatiently under the salty wash of the ocean?

After four unease-filled days, Miles found the courage in himself to ask his father, “Why is it so important to you what I do with my life?”

His father, seated in a satin armchair, leaned forwards. He looked his son, the one he’d graced with his very own name, dead in the eye. His gaze was devoid of any sympathy. He sighed, clasped his hands together and explained,

“Son, for two generations our family has held itself to a high standard. Why? High standards earn you respect. Anything less is to be scoffed at, and is merely unacceptable. Miles, you’re a Hollingsworth man. You’re the next in line to represent our family. My image, our family’s entire image, is relying on you. If you decide to fuck things up for me by becoming some new-age punk, you’re as good as dead to me. Look at your siblings. Both of them are successful, and both of them gave me a good name. They’re why we still live as lavish a life as we do. Don’t let me down. Don’t let us down.” 

With nothing more than a courteous nod and a halfhearted smile, Miles swallowed his newfound humility and left the room. He could practically feel every word he wanted to scream swimming right behind his mouth, but he knew his efforts to argue would be pointless, and he knew he’d end up getting an enraged lecture from his father, which he knew was not pleasant.

Three years later, Miles has given up all hope in trying to appease his father. His father’s given up on trying to fix his broken son, as well, and just stands by while his own child slowly wrecks himself. 

By all means, the situation is tragic, but neither of the Hollingsworth men sees their lives as such.

Or, at the very least, they choose not to acknowledge their circumstances.

The moon is nowhere in sight and the usually-dark alley that Miles has found himself in is even darker than normal, bordering on pitch black. He’s gotten past any stigma he might have had about lounging in a dark alleyway while he waits for Maya to sneak out. The short, craggy street is so secluded and desolate that even the homeless can find better locations to reside.

Right on the dot at 1 in the morning, Maya arrives in the small alley. Her blonde tresses have been flattened from their usual waves, and her bland attire from earlier in the day has been exchanged for a violet camisole and black shorts that were just barely long enough to even be considered shorts. Miles gave her a look over and sarcastically asked, “How did your parents even consider letting you buy those shorts?”

Maya rolled her eyes and responded with a smile, “Having an older sister who wears the same size of pants as you is a blessing. Now, let’s go, small talk is boring.” 

A smile slipped onto Miles’ face. As he started walking out of the dark side street’s confines with Maya by his side, he suggested, “Let’s skip the small talk, then. You start.”

Maya ran her hand over her chin in thought. The two approached a wooden fence that lead into a long-abandoned playground. As Maya stepped on to the small wooden barrier she asked, “Why did you choose me over Zoë?”  
Miles thought for a minute as he walked towards the center of the woodchip-covered playground. He simply shrugged and explained, “I’m an impulsive person. I can’t really explain why I left her, but…I know it was right.”

Maya nodded towards Miles. “Your turn.”

Miles went silent while he thought. He stopped beneath a bridge on a wooden playground fixture. His voice was almost too quiet to make out easily, his brash baritone voice reduced to little more than a murmur. “Why do you even care about me?”  
Maya couldn’t answer at first. Why did she care about someone like him? What made Miles so much more special than everybody else?

Trying her best to make sense, Maya half-stuttered, “I…well…I, uh, I don’t really know how to put it, but…have you ever accidentally broken a glass?”  
Miles didn’t see what the relevance of her question was, but he nodded nonetheless.  
“Okay, so, when you break the glass, no matter how hard you try, you always end up with pieces missing, even if they’re too small to really matter. And even if you fix that glass, it won’t ever be the same as it was, because those pieces are gone for good.” As Maya spoke, she slipped her hand into Miles’. “But sometimes, if you try hard enough, you can really see the beauty in what’s left.”

“You and me,” she calmly mused, glancing meaningfully back at Miles, “we’re like that. We might be broken and chipped, but what’s left is more meaningful now than it was before, and you can’t exactly break something that isn’t whole.”  
Despite her calm demeanor, a tempest of tears managed to find their way out of Maya’s watery green eyes. “I think,” Miles whispered as he pulled Maya into a hug, “I’m starting to understand why you’re so important to me.”  
The saccharine sweethearts sat together, Maya’s eyes spilling bittersweet tears onto Miles’ shoulder as he reassuringly cooed compliments into her ear.

After parting with Maya at dawn, Miles couldn’t help but smile as he walked back home. He was almost one hundred percent sure that somebody had noticed his absence by this point, and he could almost hear his father’s lashing insults in his head. Things will be okay, Miles thought, because you can’t break something that’s no longer a whole.


End file.
